


Paper Moon

by CarnalCoffeeBean



Series: Pendant [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnalCoffeeBean/pseuds/CarnalCoffeeBean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of just-in-case letters from Laura to Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Moon

Dear Derek-

If you’re reading this, I’m most likely dead. In that case, I’d like you to know that-

-ok, no. First? Broken nails hurt like a _sonofabitch_ , man. Writing with a broken nail is fucking uncomfortable. This is painful, Derek. Pain. Ful. The things I go through for you.

(Are you irritated yet? You hate cursing, at least you did; you may not now. I hope you still do; it’d be a shame for the world to lose the prissiest princess to ever grace the planet with his presence. You’re scowling at this right now, aren’t you? Aw, look at that grumpy face. I really hope you’re growling. Hey! I found a way to annoy you – from b _eyond the grave_! You definitely have the coolest fucking big sis ever.)

Secondly, in my defense, it’s still only hindsight that’s 20/20. Awesome alpha powers do not change this fact, no matter how much I wish it to be otherwise. (You probably know this by now. Actually, knowing you, everyone around you knows this by now. Dude, just going to say it- I cannot imagine you as an alpha. It’s just weird. Also aesthetically unappealing; your bright blue eyes are so pretty, and red is not your color at all.) …anyways, whatever happened, there’s probably no way I could’ve prepared for, foreseen, or defended against my ultimate undoing. In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m pretty careful with my life these days. I wouldn’t have done this to you on purpose, Derek.

(Shut up, I’m only a little buzzed. Liquid courage and all that jazz. Yes, Derek, wolves can get drunk. It’s actually not that hard to get drunk- you remember that one time when you found Aunt Judith sleeping on top of the entertainment system, and she locked herself in her room for two days afterwards? I hope you’ve since figured out she didn’t have the flu. If not, congratulations, little bro, you are officially the most unobservant wolf on earth. I still can’t believe you thought she was sick. Sleeping on non-bed furniture is the one true sign of derangement (and/or drunken debauchery), and yes, Derek, I am judging you and your sleeping habits from the afterlife. I still don’t understand how you can fall asleep wherever. It’s _not natural._

You fell asleep outside once, do you remember that? You were barely three, so probably not. You were outside all afternoon (you were always outside as a kid, what were you doing? No one could figure it out, but you’d come back smelling like creek and rocks and woods and happiness, so the adults just shrugged and let you out again come morning. I know I’ve told you this before, but you were a truly bizarre child), and no one thought anything of it until the sun began to set and you still weren’t back. Mom said you’d come back fine, that we were all worried for nothing, but you know Dad. They argued until the clock struck seven, and then he headed out the door.

It took us an hour to find you, even with my nose and Dad bellowing into the woods that you were late, that you needed to come back to the house, that it was time to go home. He was so pissed at you. And then we found you, all curled up in your “cave” (down by the creek, remember? You used to drag books down there until a freak rainstorm one spring raised the water level and washed it all out. You cried for weeks), barefoot, wolfed-out, and snuffling in your sleep. It was like all the anger blew out of Dad at the sight of you. He picked you up, told me to grab your shoes (I remember that because _dear god_ they smelled), and carried you home, your head bouncing on his shoulder the whole way.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to- it’s just that writing it down makes it seem more real. Like I can almost smell them, feel the rough collar of Dad’s workshirt on my cheek or mom’s t-shirts (she had such sensitive skin, hated wearing anything but t-shirts and sweats) catching on the pads of my fingers.

I get scared that I’m losing them, sometimes, in little bits and pieces, like Dad’s big belly laughs and the way you felt when he picked you up, like together you could take on the world, like there was nothing bigger and meaner and scarier than Dad, and there was nowhere safer than in his arms. Or how mom’s hugs could calm you down when you were so close to just losing it and tearing apart anything and everything in your path, how you could dig your fingers into her waist and shove your face into the crook of her neck, and she never complained, no matter how tight you hugged her, even when you knew it had to hurt (but it was just so hard to be gentle, sometimes, like you forgot that it was even possible to be careful). How she thought tea was the cure for everything; how she knew when to give you space, but she always found you the moment you needed her to. How excited she was when she figured out how to keep our eyes from flaring up in pictures; she’d pop out at you when you were doing the most mundane things, like homework or dishes or roughhousing, camera in hand, smiling like it was the best thing in the world. (She was really good at it, too, the camera thing. I think she sold a few prints to a gallery up north; we’ll go there sometime, check it out, if you want.)

You get this look in your eyes when I bring them up; hunted, vulnerable. Like if I say another word, you’ll break. And it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but I have to get it all out somehow. Letting it bounce around in the open air helps me know that they were real. That it happened. That I don’t feel so empty, hollow, for no reason.

Anyways, let’s get on to what I wanted to talk to you about. If I’m dead or whatever, assumedly you’re an alpha now. (God, that’s still a terrifying thought. Not sure I’m drunk enough for this. Ah, well. Already had the emotional scene; may as well get on with the rest.) As I’ve got some experience with the whole alpha thing, I’m thinking you could use some pointers from a real, somewhat successfully experienced (or at least successful at pretending I know what the hell I’m doing) alpha.

(The alpha is me, ok. Don’t laugh. I’m actually sure you’re doing a horrible job of it. I don’t have to be around to judge; I know you, Derek. I love you, but no. Big, really bad alphas cannot be picky when it comes to where they get their advice. I’m hoping I’m not the only one giving you advice on this shit, but if I am, I’m better than nothing.)

So, here it is:

 

 

**Laura Hale’s Super-Awesome As-Of-Yet-Undetermined-Length Helpful Tips, Hints, and Commonsense Advice for Fledgling Alphas Who May or May Not Be Really Bad at Being Alpha, a.k.a. Derek Hale**

**1.** Congrats, bro! You’re an alpha. Now go find a pack and make nice with them, so they’ll let you in.

(Look, the only reason we survived that first month on our own was through the family reputation and my not showing weakness when it came to protecting us. Since I’m dead, you can’t get mad at me retroactively for admitting that yes, I took out a member of that one pack that was on our tail. If I hadn’t taken care of their scout, they would’ve killed me and forced you to join their pack. It’s a small miracle they didn’t anyways.

I don’t regret it, Derek, but having blood on your hands isn’t pleasant. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve let them kill me. Fighting wouldn’t have been worth it. Of course, you do that, you even think of doing that, Derek, and I will annoy your ass for all of eternity. I will hum entire Broadway musicals in your ear. _You will not be able to escape it._

Back to the point; if I die, you’ll need protection, and quick. I’ve worked out something with a smaller pack in central NY; I think they’ll take you in if anything happens. I’ve enclosed the contact info. (Use it, Derek. Don’t be stupid.))

Which leads me to my next point…

     **2**. Don’t go back to Beacon Hills.

(No. Seriously. Don’t. There’s nothing for you there. That way lies madness. There’s nothing that can possibly be gained from going back. You are already the most morose werewolf on the planet. Let me be very clear on this; going back _will not help that condition_.)

     **3**. Oops! You accidentally bit someone and beta’d up.

(Ok, first off? Do this, and I am _so_ haunting your ass.

(It’s the only threat I know I’ll actually be able to use at the time this is being read, ok? I can be much more creative in my threats, as you well know, but my scope is limited as hell. Pun intended.)

 _DO NOT BITE PEOPLE_. Stop growling at the piece of paper and repeat after me:

“I do not bite people. Even if I’m angry. Biting has consequences, and I do not need baby betas running around. I also need to find better ways of dealing with my anger. I cannot communicate through growling and snark alone.”

Don’t look at the piece of paper like that; you know it’s true. So don’t bite anyone. No. _No excuses_. Don’t. If somehow you get saddled with betas through unknown mysterious beta-giving circumstances (non-stork related), be nice to them. They will probably be terrified. They will not have been werewolves their entire lives. They will not understand what’s going on, what to do with all these newly leveled-up senses and abilities, or how to control their instincts. Betas are a big responsibility, ok, Derek? You can’t just bite someone and expect them to know what to do. Be _understanding_. Be _communicative_. Do _not_ hole yourself up and not talk to them. Betas need to be around their alpha; they need touch, comfort, encouragement, praise. Roughhouse with them a little, play with them. Training can be fun. Remember how we trained? You gain a sense pretty quickly for knowing how far is too far when it comes to pushing your betas. Whatever you do, _do not cross that line_.

Again, you can avoid this by not having betas. So _don’t have betas_.)

     **4**. Going wolf. Do it, it’s good for you.

(As you know, alphas can go full wolf. It’s actually a lot of fun, letting your instinct take over like that. It’s not scary, and it doesn’t hurt much. The thing is, it can be a bit overwhelming the first time, which is why traditionally an older, more experienced alpha is asked to go on your first full-out run. It is fully within your rights as an alpha to ask another alpha. Again, we’ve got that pack in central NY, but there’s also a few packs in Oregon and Canada that would respect the Hale name. I’m working on strengthening pack relations, Derek, but I have to say, it isn’t easy when you act entirely disinterested in the whole thing. Pack alliances are helpful in certain situations (for example: ours, right now), and having a ring of alliances in place will save your life one day. A wolf without a pack doesn’t last long, but a friendless wolf dies even quicker.

Sorry, strayed from point four (rabbit-trail sister, don’t you miss it?); don’t be afraid of the change. Also, strip beforehand and remember where you put your clothes. Nothing like a nude walk after a run, but societal conventions dictate that you do have to don clothes at some point afterwards. Sitting your bare ass on slimy, decomposing leaves is not a pleasant feeling.)

     **5**. (and last for now, I think) Don’t close in on yourself, Derek.

(Don’t even pretend that’s not what you’ve been doing for the past year. I’ve let you get away with it because I’m the alpha, and I can handle the people-stuff. But if I’m not there, princess, and I’m most likely not if you’re reading this, you’ve got to get out and talk with weres. Ask them for help. Depend on them. (Don’t pretend it’s unthinkable; you depend on me now. But it’s all right, I can take it; and anyways, I depend on you, too, baby bro.))

Oh, and-

     **6**. Never forget I loved you.

So if you break any of these, I’m totally haunting your ass. I will sing operas in your ear. In the original language. _Off-key_. I will trip you up on the stairs. I will – not do stuff to your technology, since you’re already hopeless with anything fancier than an on/off switch, but I will watch and laugh. Loudly. I will _rearrange your shit_ , ok? Put my ghosty hands all over everything. I will be twice as annoying as I am in real life, and you won’t be able to stop me. At most, you will growl at thin air, which will be even more hilarious than when you tried to figure out the DVR last week.

Just a forewarning- this list will most likely get longer as days go by and more shit happens. (I’m probably forgetting something I want to tell you, anyways.) I’m leaving this with an alpha who is a friend, and _if you piss her off, Derek, I will be so mad at you_. She can help you; if she offers to help you, _accept it_. She is a big fucking deal, and I worked hard to get you this connection, ok? She can protect you better than I could. Don’t piss her off. She’ll know if something happens to me; we’ve got a system. (You’ve already pissed her off, haven’t you? Could you at least _try_ smiling once in a while? Not everyone’s out to get you. Only a good portion of everyone. Calm down, it was a joke. Stick with the rules and you’ll be fine.)

I love you, Derek. (Moon prism power! Sorry, had to. Hey, now you know it’s definitely me, yeah?)

-Laura


End file.
